


Honeymoon

by cinnamon_skull



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Honeymoon, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Undercover, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_skull/pseuds/cinnamon_skull
Summary: Tim and Jason go undercover as a just-married couple celebrating their honeymoon in order to catch a high-profile drug lord. Hand-holding, kissing, secret rendezvous and bed sharing ahead.
OR: The JayTimWeek prompt I never posted, filled  with all of my favorite tropes, inspired by Lana Del Rey’s song - Honeymoon





	

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC. This one. I started this back in June and missed every conceivable deadline for JayTim week, prompt Undercover. This is the first time I have EVER written something longer than 4k in one sitting and I have NEVER edited a piece like this before. I'm actually really excited to share this with all of you : )
> 
> Fair warning, this is completely self-indulgent and contains all of my favorite OTP tropes including bed sharing. 
> 
> I'm not sorry.
> 
> **UPDATE: 4/22/18 now with art by the lovely Foxesrefuge, who is so charming and friendly and perfect. Visit their tumblr [here](https://foxesrefuge.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

_There are violets in your eyes_  
_There are guns that blaze around you_  
_There are roses in between my thighs_  
_And a fire that surrounds you_  
_It’s no wonder every man in town_  
_Had neither fought nor found you_  
_Everything you do is elusive_  
_To even your honey dew_

_Our honeymoon_  
_Our honeymoon_  
_Our honeymoon_

_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_

 

 

 

 

1.

“Will that be all, Mr. Drake-Wayne?”

Tim’s eyes snapped back to the pretty woman standing behind the concierge desk.

“Umm?” Tim blinked, catching the glare off the golden name tag pinned to her floral dress. He thought, vaguely, that it was almost the same shade as his wedding ring. “What?”

“She asked if we needed anything else, babe,” Jason said suddenly, leaning into the space between Tim’s neck and shoulder and planting a quick, chaste kiss. “Jetlag already?”

It was only a quick brush of skin against skin, hardly anything; and yet, Tim felt almost too big for his body, fighting a sudden urgency to sink into the depth of some unnameable feeling that pulsed hotly just beneath his skin.

The woman laughed and slid over two sleek hotel card keys, rattling off several free amenities, pool hours and how to book a couple’s massage at the spa.

“Thank you,” Jason said, somewhere next to Tim’s ear. When he reached from behind Tim to grab the card keys off the polished marble, his chest pressed against Tim’s back in a wall of sudden warmth. Jason was a wall of sunlight against Tim’s back, and he smelt better than any person had a right to after flying so many hours on a stuffy plane.

When Tim didn’t move quickly enough, Jason brushed Tim’s hand away from his suitcase. “Come on,” he said, pulling it behind with his own as he moved away from the concierge desk.

The unexpected gesture caught Tim off guard, but Jason looked calm and unconcerned as they dodged a sea of incoming tourists all donning different versions of the same floral shirts and sundresses. The resort was both stunningly beautiful and modern, a place that looked as if it were made for granting wishes for nothing more than a quick slide of a plastic.

As they waited for the elevators to ping to the lobby floor, Tim tried to process the madness of the past four days.

The case.

The feel of Jason standing so close next to him.

It was only another moment before the doors opened, and they moved to stand in the center of the empty elevator. Jason winked at the attendant and wrapped a strong arm around Tim’s waist.

“Honeymoon suite,” Jason said.

His grip made Tim’s adrenaline spike, and if his voice was the sound of a motorcycle’s engine revving as the doors shut, his touch felt like racing through sloping hills in the middle of the night with the lights off, the pavement rushing up to meet the raw burn of tire.

The attendant gave a tired smile, but paid them no special interest nor sympathy for Tim’s personal crisis. He probably heard nothing but excited, trivial chatter from couples and families visiting the resort from all over the world.

It should not have been so difficult for Tim to slip into his character for this mission, but he found himself feeling awkward and unsure standing next to his partner. The dreamlike daze he’d been stuck in all morning was quickly fading away, leaving him restless and distracted. The gentle flux of the elevator did little to ease his nerves.

“Well, look,” Jason said into Tim’s ear, his lips almost brushing against his skin. “Isn’t that interesting?”

Tim stiffened, but turned his head to stare out the elevator’s back wall, which was made of strong plexiglass. He watched their target guide two men through the white, marble lobby below. They were well-dressed in expensive suits that stood out in the sea of Hawaiian florals, and each carried two leather duffel bags.

Mr. Javier Bello, _The Shark_.

He was the owner of the resort property they were currently staying and leader of an organized crime ring importing drugs into Gotham. Dick had been tracking him for the last six months, building a case backwards from Bludhaven and tracing crates back to this hotel. Red Hood worked in tandem, terrorizing the docks and blowing up every unreported shipment until one of Enrico Inzerillo’s men confirmed the connection.

And then Dick got caught up in something bigger than this with Damian, and despite the months of prep work and planning, Tim found himself thrown into the middle of the case, playing catch up and house with Jason, of all people.

Bello and his men disappeared from view, and Tim was left to ponder the negative space between his body and Jason's, who hadn’t moved away after bending down to whisper into his ear.

Intimacy wasn’t a foreign concept to Tim, despite his track record. Affected intimacy was even less-so, as he’d played dozens of roles while on the job, including a hopelessly clueless boyfriend to an overzealous honeypot. It was something he’d trained for, something they’d all been exposed to at one time or another while working for Bruce.

But Tim had never had to work with someone he _liked_.

When the elevator dinged at their floor, the attendant offered to help with their luggage. Jason responded with a few words in Spanish, too quick and low for Tim to decipher the meaning. Whatever he’d said had made the older man laugh, his tired gaze sliding from beneath wrinkled eyelids to study Tim.

Jason was charming, but Tim had already known that. All of Bruce’s wardens knew how to turn it on and off; it was a practiced skill, like most things in their line of work. But Jason wore it almost too well, like a perfectly tailored suit or an expensive haircut. His playfulness went deeper, felt more natural, and Tim remembered why he’d never gotten into bed with Jason on something like this before.

It was too dangerous, how desperately Tim wanted all of it to be real. Wanted all of Jason’s warmth and his bitterness, his rage and his humor — even the slanted edge of his wolfish smile — all for himself.

When he pushed open the hotel door that led to their suite, Jason whistled. “Remind me to get hitched more often.”

A large, white bed sat at the center of the room, and Tim’s eyes skated past it with a sense of impending dread. Shiny wooden floors gave way to three floor-to-ceiling panes of glass leading out to a balcony that overlooked a small stretch of beach and miles of blue-green ocean.

A spacious, open bathroom rested to the right of the bed, separated by bamboo slats that made the room feel larger. Behind the divider was a porcelain bathtub, large enough to easily fit two people, and behind that, a small tiled shower. An unopened bottle of champagne chilled in a wooden bucket near the tub, two empty glasses waiting for them to toast to their eternal happiness.

Tim ignored it all.

Denial, at least, was something that he was infinitely good at practicing.

When he re-entered the main room, Jason was running his fingers through a line of red and pink rose petals that the hotel staff had arranged into a heart on their bed. The sight of such a cliched welcoming made Tim want to run and take the next flight out back to Gotham. But the way Jason pinched a soft, red petal between his fingers stirred every midnight thought that Tim had locked in the back of his mind, a warning breeze slipping between guilty pleasures that refused to wilt.

When Jason realized Tim was standing behind him, he lifted his head and grinned. “I think they want us to have sex,” he said, throwing a handful of flower petals at Tim’s head.

“Just check for bugs,” Tim ordered, hastily brushing the petals from where they had settled in his hair. He made a beeline for the balcony, and the sound of Jason’s warm laughter followed.

A gentle wind blew up from the beach, cool and comforting against Tim’s flushed face, and making the sun’s harsh rays just a bit more merciful. Tim ignored the set of wicker chairs for the glass railing, which provided an unobstructed view of the hotel’s sprawling boatyard.

There was a reason they’d picked this suite, after all. And it wasn’t because Tim was a masochist.

As he leaned over the edge, Tim had a perfect view of the small, sprawling port that lined the edge of the hotel’s docks. When he tapped the corner of his sunglasses, the familiar tech from W.E. allowed him to zoom in several times. As he expected, the two men they’d seen in the lobby were currently maneuvering several fishing crates onto an expensive-looking yacht.

Briefcases filled with money and fish crates filled with drugs. _How original_.

Tim pressed another button on the edge of his sunglasses and started logging photos, snapping images of the men as they loaded the boat, getting close ups of their faces and the hotel’s logo on the crates. As they finished moving the product, Tim scanned through the photos that had loaded wirelessly to his phone to add to his evidence log. When he was satisfied he’d gotten the shots he needed, he went back inside to show Jason.

“Afternoon Delight?” Jason asked, reading the name printed on the side of the ship in impressive cursive.

“Drug runners with a sense of humor,” Tim shrugged. “Go figure.”

A sharp knock on their door interrupted their conversation. It was unexpected enough that it startled them into motion.

“Did you case the room liked I asked?” Tim dove for his suitcase, digging through for the extra large thermos that hid a collapsible bo staff.

“No, I just laid on the bed and took naked selfies with the kissing swan towels,” Jason bit back, screwing a silencer onto the tip of a gun. Tim didn't want to know how he’d managed to smuggle it through customs.

“No guns!” Tim hissed.

Jason made a face and gestured for Tim to get the door at the sound of three more impatient knocks. On a whim, Tim grabbed one of the white bathrobes and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Just a sec,” Tim yelled out, stepping out of his pants and slipping the bathrobe over his now bare shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, making it stick up around his face, and then pinched his cheeks to add to the effect.

When he checked the eyehole first, he saw Bello standing outside their room. _Shit._

Tim made himself laugh, tuning his head to shoot Jason a warning look and mouthing _The Shark_. Jason nodded and ducked out of view, just before Tim opened the door.

“Can I help you?” Tim asked, a little breathlessly. He knew exactly how he looked, face flushed and hair mussed in the wake of someone’s demanding hands. He let his eyes slant closed slightly as he stared at his visitor with parted lips.

Bello gave him a slow, steely-eyed once over, and only Tim’s training saved him from fidgeting under the weight of such an intense gaze. “Mr. Drake-Wayne?”

“Yes?” Tim answered with a relaxed grin, leaning against the door jam and tilting his head a little more, just enough to remind Bello that he wasn’t a man who was used to being kept waiting.

“I’m Javier Bello. I own this hotel,” he said, extending his hand to Tim. “I wanted to make sure you’ve found everything to your liking.”

“Do you always make house calls?” Tim asked in a bored tone, but he extended his own hand just the same. Bello’s skin felt at once oily and threatening against his own, and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the eery iciness of his grip.

“When a guest’s name precedes him, yes,” Bello said with a sharp smile and wide-set eyes the color of gunmetal. Tim had no doubt where his nickname came from, even with his bloodthirsty business reputation. “It’s always a pleasure to serve a Wayne.”

“You know my father, then?” Tim asked, feigning interest. He gave the distinct impression that he was only humoring Bello, but the other man carried on all the same.

“He’s stayed at this hotel before, _ahh_ ,” and here Bello laughed; it was a wet, mean sound. His thin lips pulled back high on his mouth, revealing whitewashed, pink gums that instantly brought to mind the image of a Shark. “Not in this exact suite, of course.”

“Of course,” Tim repeated stiffly, weighing down each word with a measure of haughtiness.

“Did you get the champagne we left?” Bello asked, switching topics and craning his head around Tim’s shoulders to peek into the room. Tim let him — it would seem strange if he refused — and was surprised to see a shirtless Jason laying on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head.

 

 

Jason looked equal parts turned on and annoyed, and Tim marvelled at the rawness in his expression. The hardness in his face and the intensity of his stare were two things Tim had become infinitely familiar with in all his time working with Red Hood, but in this situation both traits made Jason look terribly seductive. His bedroom eyes were magnetic, his mouth red and waiting. Some of the rose petals had been pushed to the floor and the bedsheet beneath Jason was rucked up on one side, painting an impatient, heated picture of careless limbs and bated breaths.

Tim’s gaze drifted lower to find that Jason had unbuttoned his jeans, the waistband sunk low on his hips. Nothing was visible but a long stretch of paler skin and a line of dark hair, but Jason made no move to shift his position as they stepped more fully into the room.

“Problem?” Jason asked gruffly, his voice a little dark. Tim wanted to shiver all over again.

Jason and Bello did not exchange words, but the room felt charged and heavy. Tim watched Bello’s eye move across every surface in their room, from the messy suitcase on the floor to the half-open balcony door. His eyes lingered on the unopened bottle of champagne and the tablet Tim had left on the nightstand.

After another long stretch of silence where no one said anything at all, Bello waved a careful hand at Tim.

“Well,” Bello flashed his teeth in a mockery of a smile, and Tim could see something underneath, like the shadow of a threat lurking just behind his teeth. “I see you’re all set. Here’s my card, please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all, Mr. Drake-Wayne.”

“I won’t,” Tim said, walking him out. He watched Bello take the elevator through the eyehole, but he never turned to give them a second look. When the elevator reached their floor, Bello stepped in and disappeared back into the depths of the hotel.

When he was sure that Bello was gone, Tim relaxed and let out a shaky breath of air. He turned back to Jason and caught him pulling his gun out from beneath a pillow and moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

“You think he knows?” Tim asked. “That was weird.”

“I think he’s suspicious with you being from Gotham, but we expected that,” Jason said, shrugging his shoulders and buttoning up his jeans. “I don’t think we should divert from the plan.”

“He was looking for something,” Tim insisted, his eyes drifting to the sunny sky outside the balcony windows.

“Or someone.” Jason pushed off the bed and came to stand next to Tim. “Maybe our friend Enrico gave him a heads up on Dick.”

“Maybe,” Tim repeated. One of the pink rose petals was crushed against the waistband of Jason’s jeans, just below the jut of his hip.

Jason sighed. “Look. We gotta talk.”

“I know I was taking a risk not using an alias,” Tim said. “But I still think it was our best — ”

“No,” Jason held up a hand, and Tim to pressed his lips together in silence. “Not about that.”

“Oh,” Tim blinked. “Then what?”

“Okay, kid,” Jason said. His eyes drifted downward, and Tim thought he might have been looking at his bare legs beneath the robe’s hem. “There’s not really an easy way of saying this.”

Tim pulled back slightly, his stomach sinking. Almost on autopilot, he started to pull up his defenses, sliding beneath a mask of calculated indifference. Whatever hazy warmth of this strange, pipedream of a honeymoon that had fueled his fantasies had receded into cold anxiety.

“That’s it, that’s exactly it.” Jason pointed at Tim’s face, his lips pressed into a thin frown.

“What are we talking about here, Jason?” Tim kept his tone clipped, almost clinical. Feelings didn’t really have a place out in the field, as Jason so often made him forget.

“You’ve got to relax a little,” Jason said. “You’re too tense.”

Tim crossed his arms over his chest before he could stop himself. “I’m not.”

“I’m pretty sure you could shit diamonds right now,” Jason said. “I know you got thrown into this last minute — ”

“That’s a little generous,” Tim scoffed. “B didn’t tell me anything until we were on the tarmac. Alfred had to pack for me!”

“And thank god for small miracles.”

“Not you, too!” Tim cried out. At the smug, knowing look that crossed Jason’s face, Tim waved his hands in annoyance. “That’s not even the point!”

“Look, we’re all really glad you could help us out,” Jason continued. “But you’re going to blow our cover if you don’t chill out a little.”

“Chill out?” Tim echoed in disbelief. “This isn’t a frat party, Jason. I read the case files the entire plane ride out here, and I’m pretty sure I just got Bello off our backs.”

“So you know the details,” Jason waved a dismissive hand. “But you have to feel it, too. Bello’s already suspicious, you saw his face. You know he’s going to be watching us.”

“I’m not an amateur,” Tim shot back, an edge to his voice. “You know this isn’t my first mission.”

“Okay,” Jason hummed. “So when was the last time you got laid?”

Tim reeled back, blinking again. “The… what? What?”

If Tim were being honest, it had been a while. People were an unnecessary complication, more often than not turning into an obligation instead of a mutually beneficial avenue of escape. But Tim had enough experience that he could fake intimacy in his sleep.

“We’re supposed to be out here on our honeymoon. You can’t stiffen up every time I put my hands on you.”

“I’m not — _you haven’t_ —,” Tim stuttered. He felt a little like he was still on the jetplane from earlier, slowly losing cabin pressure as they crossed acres of open water. “What do you want me to do?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, and Tim fought back the urge to blush at the way that had sounded. “Just give me a little something to work with, yeah?”

Tim stared.

“Here,” Jason sighed, slowly approaching. “Let’s set some boundaries. I know how much you like rules.”

“Not as much as you like breaking them,” Tim scowled, but gestured for Jason to continue anyway.

“You know how to hold someone’s hand, right?” Jason continued, moving to stand in front of Tim so that they were an arm’s length apart.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I didn’t grow up on Mars.”

“Batcave, not much difference,” Jason shrugged. “B isn’t exactly known for his affection.” He looked at Tim, his eyes softening. “Hold out your hand.”

Tim eyed Jason, but did as he was told.

“Good,” Jason said, moving his free hand to hover just above Tim’s. “Now show me how you hold your husband’s hand.”

Not for the first time, Tim was glad that he wasn’t a palm sweater. He moved to link his hand with Jason’s and at the first slow, concentrated brush of skin, Tim knew he was in some kind of trouble. As their hands moved together, Tim felt a low swooping in his stomach, the kind of bubbling, terrifying happiness he felt each time he lept off the edge of a building. All at once, he cupped Jason’s hand, tightly pressing their palms together.

When Tim looked up, Jason was watching him closely. His eyes were narrowed slightly, his expression hidden beneath the fan of his eyelashes, dark and thick against his cheek.

“That’s good,” Jason said after a long pause, and Tim almost sighed in relief. “If you’re pulling a misbehaving kid through a Wayne charity event.”

“What?” Tim tried to jerk his hand back, but Jason tightened his fingers and held firm.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Jason repeated as if Tim hadn’t heard him the first time. He tugged Tim’s fist closer to his chest until he stopped struggling. “We just promised the future and the whole midnight sky and every stupid morning cup of coffee to each other.”

Tim’s throat tightened. That swooping sensation again, a surge of pure longing for words Jason threw out so carelessly.

“And we flew out here to fuck on the beach and drink fancy champagne out of each other’s mouths,” Jason continued, still clutching Tim’s hand. “Now hold my fucking hand like you want it.”

Tim knew he was blushing, could feel the heat at the back of his neck and the tips of his ears at Jason’s words. But he grit his teeth and shifted his hand, because there was something savage in him, too, that wouldn’t let him back down no matter how much he wanted to.

He laced their fingers together, slowly, and dragged their palms together until warmth bloomed like roses under the contact of their skin, soft and just a little sharp around the edges. Tim ran a fingertip over a faint scar on the top of Jason’s thumb, and he liked the way Jason’s darker skin looked against his own.

How many nights had he thought about these hands and what they could do to him?

Without thinking, Tim pulled their intertwined hands to his face and pressed his lips to Jason’s bony knuckles and then skimmed down, until he could pull the soft skin at the back of Jason’s hand into his mouth.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to savor Jason’s taste and the way he could feel Jason’s pulse pressing against his fingers.

“Um...,” Jason murmured thickly, his breath tickling the top of Tim’s head. “That was…uh, good. Very good.”

When he let their hands drop, Tim didn’t have enough control over himself to look up. “Good,” he repeated numbly, almost breathlessly. “Are we done?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, pulling away suddenly. “You get the idea, now.”

Tim opened his eyes slowly, and Jason had already drifted to the other side of the room. He kneeled at the foot of their bed and flipped open his suitcase.

“It’s almost two,” Jason said without turning to look at Tim. “Bello is probably getting ready for his afternoon meeting.”

“Okay,” Tim said, trying to follow.

“So get changed.” Jason pulled out a pair of short swimming trunks. “We’re going for a swim.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2.

 

“Two Heinekens, please,” Tim asked, and then turned his back to the tiki hut bar to survey the pool area.

Several pools stretched out in front of him, aquamarine and sparkling in the afternoon sun. A number of couples lounged in white cabanas that lined the back half of the pool, while others soaked up sunlight in wooden lounge chairs.

The pool wasn’t as crowded as Tim would have thought, but still, there were men and women sipping drinks in the water, dancing along to party music controlled by a DJ in another tiki hut. In one corner, a number of expensive glass tables were set up with bright blue umbrellas. A group of businessmen lounged, smoking cigars and drinking tequila.

More of Bello’s men.

Tim’s eyes skimmed over to Jason, who was submerged in the water from the waist down, his back and shoulders already turning a deeper honey brown under the sun’s rays. He was casually watching the men, mesmerizing faces and discreetly snapping more photos for their case log.

As if he could feel his gaze, Jason turned to wave at Tim.

“Boyfriend?” the pool bartender asked with a smile.

“Husband,” Tim corrected with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “Lucky me, right?”

The bartender whistled and slanted a glance down at Tim’s chest and the damp hair clinging to the back of his neck. “Lucky him, too.”

“Have you worked here long, Deran?” Tim asked casually, taking a sip of beer that the tall, handsome bartender had handed him. Of course Tim already knew everything about him, had spent the plane ride pouring over lists and lists of staff members and then hacking into the hotel’s employment records until he found the perfect floater.

Deran grunted. “Too long, probably.”

“Come on, this place is paradise,” Tim teased, shooting him a mischievous smile. “Tell me you don’t enjoy it?”

“Maybe when you’re on vacation. But, it’s not so glamorous on this side of the fence. Although...,” Deran dropped his voice and leaned forward with his eyes on Tim’s lips. “Today, the view’s not so bad.”

There was warmth beneath those words, and something a little darker that matched the look in Deran’s eyes, and his attention made Tim want to shiver in pleasure. How long had it been since someone had looked at him like he was an answer instead of a question? Like he could save Deran from some unknowable fate just by pressing his lips into the crook of his neck or pushing his palm into the heat between his legs.

“I bet you know all the secrets,” Tim said, leaning forward to meet Deran halfway.

“Secrets?” Deran repeated dumbly, but Tim knew he already had him by the way his eyes stayed too long on the soft skin of this throat.

“Yeah, you know, like the best places to get _lost_?”

“Hmm,” Deran hummed, moving his hands so they brushed against Tim’s. “Depends if you like to get lost alone or….?” His eyes flickered over to Jason again, who was talking to a woman in a barely-there bikini.

“Do you want me to bring him?” Tim asked, lowering his voice a little. “I could, he said you were cute. But I thought maybe you and I could…”

He let his words dangle like hooks, let Deran fill in the blanks with all his wildest dreams and pent up frustrations. Just like Tim knew he would.

“He won’t care?” Deran asked again, but Tim could tell he was wearing him down with the promise of something so deliciously forbidden.

“He’s not a problem,” Tim assured him, running his fingers up Deran’s arm. “We like to keep things pretty open, you know?”

“Yeah,” Deran said, watching Tim’s fingers move against his skin.

“What time does your shift end?”

“I’m off in an hour,” Deran replied. “But maybe tomorrow? I have a late shift — we could meet here around eleven?”

“And then?” Tim asked, dragging his eyes down and then back up to settle on Deran’s lips.

“Then we’ll pick a room,” Deran said, around a sharp intake of breath. “I can get us a master card key from one of the maids.”

“Tomorrow at eleven, then,” Tim said, winking playfully. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Tim could feel Deran’s eyes on him as he walked back toward Jason. It felt good to know he hadn’t lost his touch, that he was still good at playing a role and working his character. It was just Jason, who always had a way of throwing him off.

Jason was looking up at him with his head tilted and a small frown playing at his lips. But he was wearing his sunglasses, and Tim couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses.

“What?” Tim handed him his beer, easing down so that he could sit on the pool’s edge with his feet in the water.

“Nothing,” Jason said, taking a long sip and turning back to the men gathered at the tables. The light caught against the matching wedding ring that Jason wore. “Just a little impressed, I guess.”

“You doubted me?”

“No, but I…,” Jason paused and then shook his head, still not facing Tim. “I guess I didn’t think it would be so easy.”

“We got lucky,” Tim said quickly, wanting to change the subject. “Let’s not be stupid.”

“You’re right,” Jason agreed, bringing his beer to his lips. “Bello is a dangerous man.”

“Speaking of which,” Tim said, tilting his head in the direction of the men lounging at the glass tables. He dipped into the water next to Jason, shivering a little despite the heat of the mid-afternoon sun.

Bello was outside now, speaking with someone at the head of the table. He looked as sleek and deadly as he had in their hotel room as he gestured calmly with his hands.

And then suddenly, his eyes found Tim and Jason in the pool. And stayed there, as they stood next to each other in the water, waiting.

“I think he wants a show,” Jason said softly, his free hand floating against the surface of the water. He turned slightly to place his half-empty beer on the pool’s edge, blocking Bello from Tim’s view.

“A show?” Tim repeated.

Jason reached out his hands to skim up the length of Tim’s arms lightly. The wetness of his touch against Tim’s sun-kissed skin makes him shiver. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Tim said slowly, feeling his skin breaking out in tiny bumps of pleasure. “It’s fine.”

_Fine, fine, fine,_ like grains of sugar under his tongue, sweet and almost too much.

“Good,” Jason repeated. “And this?”

Jason stepped closer and brought his warm palms up Tim’s back in slow, firm arcs from the center of his spine to his shoulders, mapping out the topography of what made his breath hitch, what made him ache.

“Fine,” Tim said again and hated the word even as he said it, more quickly than before. There was less space between them, now. The pool was a cool savior against his lower back, against the space between his legs where he could feel his sunken heartbeat.

“And this?” Jason asked, moving one hand to cup the back of Tim’s neck. He twined his fingers in Tim’s damp hair, tugging gently, before sliding his thumb upward to trace the fine skin behind his ear. “Still good?”

Tim nodded his head, hoping Jason couldn’t read his thoughts from the heaviness of his eyelids or the press of his teeth against his bottom lip.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” was all the warning Tim got before Jason closed the distance between them.

Except that wasn't what Jason did. He leaned down until their lips were almost touching. Tim’s skin felt tight all over with anticipation and want, and then _nothing_.

Because Jason stopped just before the crush of their lips, to watch Tim unravel beneath the heavy-gaze of his dark eyes. And Tim felt like he was falling, tumbling down at every wrong angle, because in those precious seconds he knew he’d given the game away.

He let Jason see how much he _wanted_ it.

And then the kiss, when it happened, made something urgent and hopeful smolder in the pit of Tim’s stomach. Jason wasn’t careful, but neither was his touch too rough against Tim’s mouth, and he liked that Jason wasn’t delicate with him.

In many ways, the kiss felt like Jason — unpolished but charming, with just enough bite to remind Tim there would always be something wild and a little vicious about him. When Jason came too close to something dangerous, he liked the aftermath of it, liked the scratches and bruises.

This felt like something dangerous between them.

Tim knew afterward he’d spend all day pressing his fingers into his bruised lips, chasing after the painful pleasure of wanting something so badly and then not wanting it at all in the same exalted breath.

When Jason pulled back, Tim kept his eyes closed too long. And Jason’s laugh against his temple was hot and promising.

“He’s gone,” Jason said, and Tim was gone, too, slipping from Jason’s fingers and letting the cold quiet of the pool wash over his face and heated skin, drowning out everything but the pounding of his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3.

Tim was sitting at the hotel bar when he saw Bello again. It was just past eleven in the evening, and Jason was down at the hotel’s docks, installing cameras between shipment deliveries.

After their shared kiss, Tim had tried to act as normal as possible and Jason hadn’t brought it up again. They went back to the hotel room and outlined their plan again, made a list of the things that could go wrong and reworked the plan again.

“Where’s your husband?” Bello asked, just as Tim finished his glass of wine. Tim was reminded again of a predator, someone who had nothing and no one to fear. It was in Bello’s every movement, the way crowds parted around him like a frightened school of fish.

“He’ll be back soon,” Tim said, turning a perfect press conference smile on Bello that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He went outside to smoke a cigar.”

Bello’s thin eyebrows arched. “He left you all alone at the hotel bar?”

Tim signaled to the bartender for another glass, turning away from Bello’s listless eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “Are you saying your hotel bar is dangerous, Mr. Bello?”

Bello smirked and then pulled back the empty barstool next to Tim. When he was fully seated, he leaned in closer, so that his knee touched Tim’s under the marble lip of the bar. To be near Bello was to feel a coldness in the air, a chilling warning that sent all of Tim’s senses into hyper-alert, his instincts demanding that he run away as fast as possible.

“That depends on you, Mr. Drake-Wayne,” he said, his voice a deeply unsettling whisper. “Do you find temptation dangerous?”

When it came, the press of Bello’s thigh against Tim’s was nauseating. It felt very much like skimming his fingers against the edges of a shark’s mouth, accepting the unpleasant truth that in the next moment there would be pain and blood and not being able to do anything to stop it.

“I’m a Wayne, remember,” Tim said, more lightly than he thought he could manage. He made his words come out relaxed, almost teasing. “We always get what we want.”

Bello’s sharp teeth flashed. “And what do you want now?”

“To enjoy my honeymoon.”

Real fear ripped through Tim at the narrowing of Bello’s black eyes, and Tim was sure that the other man was about to call the ruse. But then it was gone, and Bello was nodding, pushing back from the marble bartop to study Tim from a distance.

A hand moved down to rest on Tim’s knee. “Why did you chose this hotel?”

The unasked questions skated along the edges of Bello’s dry lips, but Tim heard them anyway. “Are you always so inquisitive?” Tim countered, taking another sip of his wine and willing his hand not to shake. “Or am I just special?”

Bello’s eyes danced with terrifying amusement, bright with the prospect of a challenge. His fingers squeezed Tim’s leg, ice cold through the material of his jeans. “I pity the fool who underestimates you.”

“You speak as if I have something to hide,” Tim replied, his fingers skimming over the edge of his wine glass. “I’m rather boring, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Bello said, leaning in closer again. “I doubt that very much.”

Just then, Tim felt warm fingers curling against the back of his neck protectively. “This guy bothering you, baby?” Jason asked, his hands moving until they rested on his shoulders.

A rush of feelings assaulted Tim at the feel of Jason’s presence around him — chiefly among them a flooding relief that Bello had snatched his hand away from Tim’s thigh.

Their time in the pool felt far away and foreign, like Tim had dreamed it up on his flight out here. But he couldn’t dream up the heat from Jason’s body, pressing into his back or the protective weight of his hands.

“Jason. This is Mr. Bello, remember?” Tim said evenly, raising one hand to rest over Jason’s on his shoulder.

“No.” Jason leaned down to press a possessive kiss against Tim’s neck that made his eyes flutter shut. His skin burned beneath Jason’s lips, and despite the brevity of it, the feeling lingered. And yet, it wasn’t enough to erase the chill Bello had lit in his bones.

“He owns the hotel.”

“Okay.” There was no warmth in Jason’s answering smile, no recognition or acknowledgement that Bello was a man to be respected in the nonchalant lull of Jason’s voice.

“You like cigars?” Bello asked, the edges of his sharp teeth catching on his bottom lip.

“When I have something to celebrate.” One of Jason’s hands moved down Tim’s back, stopping at the top of his jeans.

Bello hummed, his eyes tracing the path of Jason’s hands, and the feel of his stare made Tim want to shiver. “How long have you known Mr. Drake-Wayne?”

“Tim?” Jason said fondly, squeezing Tim’s hip. “Oh, we go way back. Since childhood.”

“Really?” Bello said, something narrowing in his face. “I don’t remember reading anything about you in the paper when I was in Gotham not that long ago.”

“We have a great PR team,” Tim cut in. “If you know my father, then you know how much we like our _privacy_.”

“And what does Mr. Wayne think of all this?” Bello pressed, ignoring Tim’s displeasure.

“I’m very sure he would say that it’s really none of your business,” Tim said, doing his best impression of Bruce.

“Of course,” Bello conceded, tapping his fingers on the bar, but the sincerity of his words stalled flat on his tongue. “My apologies.”

Tim nodded curtly, but said nothing in response.

“I think you should leave,” Jason said, his hard eyes narrowed at Bello.

“I will,” Bello said, his voice amused and terrible. “Not because you told me to, of course, but because I’ve grown bored of our game.”

“No one’s playing,” Jason grit out, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“How fine you look when dressed in rage*,” Bello marvelled, his eyes sweeping down Jason’s face and then flicking back toward Tim. “What a pair you make.”

“You don’t want a scene, do you?” Jason asked. “I don't think you need the bad press.”

Bello threw his head back and laughed. It was an awful, threatening sound. “Perhaps not as boring as I thought.” He pushed back from the bar and straightened the line of his suit as he stood. “I’ll see you both soon.”

Without another glance in their direction, Bello slipped away, cutting through the late night crowd as sleekly and quiet as a Great White. Tim wondered how long before he’d smell blood in the water.

When he could no longer see Bello’s retreating back, Tim let out a shaky breath.

“Room,” Jason said in his ear, and Tim nodded.

They laced their fingers together, and Tim was glad for once that he had Jason to lean on. Bello was infinitely creepy, and his single-minded attention reminded Tim eerily of Ra's.

In the elevator, Jason’s hand found its way to the back of Tim’s neck again, and he absently stroked a patch of skin with the pad of his thumb. Tim’s thoughts were full of the sharp jutts of Bello’s teeth and the listless grey of Bello’s horrible eyes, and the ugly feel of his hand touching Tim’s thigh.

Jason’s fingers eased some of Tim’s nausea, and he leaned into it gratefully, standing in comfortable silence with Jason until they could key into their room.

When the door locked behind them, Jason held a single finger to his lips, signalling for Tim to remain quiet. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Jason do another sweep of the room, watched him switch on an audio jammer from his suitcase after two laps.

“I set up the cameras at the docks,” Jason said, though Tim could see the worry in his eyes. It made him look softer, more friendly. “The feed’s good, I checked my phone on the way back up.”

“Good,” Tim replied, the word feeling numb on his tongue. “That’s good.”

“Tim...” Jason said, his voice drifting off.

“I need a shower,” Tim said quickly, jumping off the bed and heading to the bathroom before Jason could say anything else.

As he stripped, Tim tried not to think of anything at all. He didn’t need another reason for Jason to pity him, didn’t want to provide another opportunity for Jason to wish it had been Dick out here instead of him.

Tim flicked on the shower, stepping under the warm heat until his muscles started to relax.

They had all the cards in place. They were good to strike tomorrow just past eleven, once Tim had the card key from Deran. That would give them access to the hotel’s server room, where Jason could hook into security and loop the live feeds while they cornered Bello when the drugs and the money were in one place.

No costumes this time, just quick and quiet the way Bruce wanted it. Tim was looking forward to wiping Bello’s slimy smile off his face.

Tim felt better after turning over the plan a few more times in his head, making slight adjustments and then starting again, a continual loop until he could recite every move in his sleep. By then, the water had turned cold.

As he stepped out and toweled off, he remembered, belatedly, that Jason could see into the shower through the wide bamboo slats that he’d forgotten to close.

But when he looked up, Jason wasn’t in the room. Tim’s eyes flicked across the empty bed and then settled on the large windows, where he could see the faintest outline of Jason on the balcony. The orange glow of a cigarette lit him up against the midnight sky.

Tim pressed against this lips with hard fingers, until he could feel the phantom, bruising rush of Jason blowing smoke into his waiting mouth. It was something he’d thought about before — long before their earlier kiss — desperate to share some of Jason’s quiet and beautiful venom.

Did the end of a cigarette feel like the beginning of something, for Jason? A spark of possibility that might burn the whole world down before Jason found what he was looking for in the darkness. And then Tim thought that he’d probably drunk too much wine and that he was very tired, and that Jason wasn’t someone he could ever figure out.

He sighed and wrapped a towel around his hips, stepping out of the bathroom to rifle through his bag for a pair of boxers. He pulled out a white t-shirt and then dimmed the lights, slipping under the covers without giving much thought to the idea that he’d soon be sharing it with Jason. Hopefully, he’d be deeply asleep by the time Jason finished his cigarette.

Not more than five minutes later, Tim heard the balcony door slide open and then shut. It was Jason’s turn for the shower, and Tim was glad his back was to the bathroom.

It felt like a lot longer that Tim listened to Jason in the shower, and then after, as he moved throughout the room in the dark. Too soon, the bed dipped under Jason’s weight as he pulled back the covers and slipped in next to Tim.

The first thing Tim thought was that the bed really wasn’t as large as he would have liked. As it was, Jason’s leg bumped into the back of his calf. He smelled like the hotel’s brand of soap and shampoo, like springtime violets blooming in between the gentle touch of their thighs.

“Tim,” Jason said quietly, his voice a gentle puff of air.

When Tim didn’t say anything, Jason sighed. “I know you’re awake.”

Tim turned to lie on his back, and his shoulder brushed against Jason’s as he looked up at the ceiling. “What?”

Jason was quiet for so long that Tim thought he might not say anything at all. “Are you okay?”

Tim swallowed back the sudden wave of emotion that made his eyes ache. “Yeah,” he answered, his words barely louder than a sigh.

Jason was still next to him, until Tim felt Jason’s warm fingers find his hand under the blanket. “Is this still okay?” he asked.

Tim laughed, the unexpectedness of it making him feel warm. He laced his fingers with Jason’s and squeezed, and the answering pressure of Jason’s fingers against his palm felt like their kiss from earlier and something else, too.

The start of something, maybe.

“Yeah,” Tim answered, biting his lip. “If you’re trying to help an elderly woman cross the street.”

“You do remind me of a sassy grandmother most of the time,” Jason agreed, and Tim felt his breath tickle the side of his face.

They lay in silence for a while after that, their hands intertwined until well into the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4.

Several hours later, Tim stood at the edge of the pool. Everything looked even more welcoming at night, with twinkling lights and turquoise green water, and Tim was sorely tempted to sink into the calming quiet of the waveless pool.

But, he had a job to do, which he was reminded of as he heard Deran approach, his footsteps loud against the concrete. Tim kept his eyes trained on the water, wanting to give Deran the impression he was easily distracted and even more easily caught off guard.

“There you are,” Deran breathed against Tim's neck, wrapping his hands around his waist from behind. His palms were hot and heavy on Tim’s stomach, his mouth already seeking the skin at the juncture of his shoulder.

Tim stiffened in mock surprise, and then made himself relax against Deran’s touch.

“You're late.” Tim pressed himself back into the heat of the other man’s body.

“And you’re overdressed,” Deran mouthed against his ear, his fingers playing with the zip of Tim’s hoodie. Underneath, Tim was dressed for battle, a black lycra suit reinforced with W.E. tech, insulated against electricity and plated with tightly knit kevlar mesh.

Of course, Deran had no way of knowing he was a fly already drowning in the amber of Tim’s plan. It had been brutal, waiting all day for this moment. After breakfast, Jason and Tim had done what they could to prepare for the sting, but nothing could really happen until he had Deran’s card key.

He wondered, briefly, what Dick would have done, if he would have targeted Deran or someone else, maybe someone from housekeeping. Would Jason have acted exactly the same with Dick?

The image of Jason running his fingers innocently down Dick’s arm made something dark churn in his gut, as black and twisting as the ocean on the other side of the resort. He thought he understood, for a moment, what it meant, and then the feeling fled at another brush of Deran’s hands over his shoulders.

He twisted in Deran’s arms to face him, shooting him the same playful smile that had hooked him the other day by the pool. Deran looked handsome in the golden light, lust making his eyes darker and his mouth sharper.

“Not for long, hopefully,” Tim whispered into the charged air between them.

_“Oh, please,”_ Jason’s voice cut into his thoughts through the earpiece he wore. _“This guy’s a sap if he falls for that line.”_

Judging by the way Deran pressed his hips against Tim before he’d even finished, he liked the line just fine. But the stakes felt raised with Jason listening in to their every word, with the knowledge he was watching them from the clubhouse balcony.

“Hopefully,” Deran agreed pleasantly. His fingers traced against Tim’s jaw, hooking under his chin and then nudging up gently, so that Deran could lean down and kiss him.

Even though Tim had been expecting it, he still stiffened slightly when Deran’s mouth pressed against his own. Tim rocked up on his toes, slid his lips open against Deran’s until the velvet heat of their tongues ignited the roof of his mouth.

The knowledge that Jason’s eyes were him settled low in Tim’s spine, making his adrenaline spike.

“Christ, you taste good,” Deran said, fisting his fingers into Tim’s hair and tugging gently. This wasn’t the kiss that Tim wanted, but Deran wasn’t a terrible kisser, either. It felt good to lose himself momentarily into the feeling of being desired. Would it really be such a bad thing if he closed his eyes…?

_“You’re gonna break this guy’s heart,”_ Jason joked into his ear, bringing him back from the sharp edge of his thoughts. Part of Tim felt bad about leading him on. Deran wasn’t a bad guy, had no connections to Bello or anyone else in Gotham. But he was a means to a very important end, so Tim tried to quell any guilt he felt at his actions.

“Want you,” Tim said in a rush, making his voice low and husky. He moved his hands down to palm at Deran’s sides. “Did you bring it?”

Deran smiled against his mouth. “’Course I did.”

Tim pulled back slightly so that Deran could reach into his back pocket and wave the master card key in his face.

Jason whistled in his ear. _“Made you work hard for it, didn’t he?”_

A sense of relief and then terrible urgency shot through Tim. This was happening, this was real.

“I knew you were a man of your word,” Tim said, pulling Deran away from the pool and back toward the hotel by the hand.

“Among other things,” Deran promised, his words like honey at the back of Tim’s neck.

Tim tugged him along, checking to make sure no one was looking at them. The pool area was completely deserted, but everything felt a little more dangerous, a little more frantic, knowing that Bello’s men could be watching.

_“That’s terrible hand-holding,”_ Jason quipped in his ear, and Tim fought back a smile. _“I did better in middle school.”_

When the stone walkway got more winding and there were far fewer lights, Tim made his move.

“Wait,” Tim said suddenly, pulling Deran into an alcove off the path leading back to the hotel.

“I thought you wanted —,”

Tim pushed Deran against the base of nearby palm tree, kissed him hard enough to silence his protests. “I changed my mind,” he said, before dropping to his knees.

Jason had gone very quiet in his ear.

_“Jesus,”_ Deran said, leaning his head back against the trunk. Tim grabbed at his belt, buying himself a little more time, unravelling Deran further to make his move as quick and painless as possible.

Tim hummed and ran his palms up Deran’s thighs, leaned his cheek against the heat between his legs.

“Do you know how hot you are?” Deran sounded just the right side of desperate.

“Sorry about this,” Tim said, moving lightning quick and stabbing Deran in the thigh with an EpiPen-like sedative. Thanks to the work of W.E. tech, it had a near immediate effect; Deran hunched over, knocked unconscious.

“What a tease,” Jason said, his voice coming from behind instead of Tim’s ear.

“I told you to wait in the stairwell.” Tim laid Deran’s body on the ground, out of sight from passing guests.

“And miss all the fun?”

“I wasn’t having fun,” Tim protested, annoyed at the judgemental tone in Jason’s voice, the guilt at his actions putting him on edge. “I was doing my job.”

Jason gave him a long look before shrugging his shoulders. He turned his attention back to Deran’s motionless form on the ground. Jason was already wearing his black suit, making him look more deadly, less human somehow.

“Thanks, Deran.” Jason bent down to grab the access key from his pocket. “You give a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘all access.’”

“Jason.” Tim warned.

“Let’s go.” Jason’s voice was calm, almost easy. Normal enough to make Tim wonder if he’d imagined Jason’s earlier annoyance. “Bello’s waiting.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

6.

It didn't take long for Jason to hack into the hotel’s security feed. He erased the last hour of captured footage to be safe, and looped it indefinitely so that they had plenty of time to get the jump on Bello.

Jason used the hotel’s camera system to get eyes on their target. Bello was in a penthouse suite on the topmost floor in the east wing, sitting at the head of a large table with several other well-dressed men.

“Typical,” Jason snorted. “Today’s crime lords are so unoriginal.”

“Let’s just be glad he’s not chopping anyone into teeny, tiny pieces.” Tim took a moment to pull off his hoodie and secure his bo staff into place behind his back.

“Not yet, anyway.” Jason zoomed in on the men at the table, logging their faces against the criminal database installed on his computer.

Tim whistled as several familiar names flashed on the screen. “That’s quite a roster.”

Jason rubbed his hands together in agreement. “B is gonna blow his load when he sees this.”

Tim scrunched up his nose. “Gross.”

“Gross?” Jason turned to stare at Tim. “Two more seconds of you on your knees and Duran Duran over there was gonna cream his pants.”

“Whatever.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest. Guilt was a heavy, nasty thing in his chest. “How much time do we have?”

Jason tapped his fingers against the computer screen. “Probably about fifteen minutes before the party really starts.”

“Let’s run through the plan again.”

“Not again,” Jason groaned, sliding a hand over his eyes.

Tim glared at him. “I’m serious.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration. “After the bad, bad men start drinking and sampling the drugs, we make our move. I shoot some people, you knock a few unconscious with your cute bo staff. You yell at me for accidentally putting a bullet between Bello’s beady eyes, but you can’t resist my handsome face so you forgive me after five minutes. Bang, bang, kiss, kiss, we’re on a redeye back to Gotham. Happy ever after.”

“Did you really just say bang, bang, kiss, kiss?”

“Do you really think I’m letting Bello walk out of here with only his hands cuffed?” Jason countered. “After the shit he’s pulled?”

_After what he did to you? What he said to us?_ The unspoken words were heavy in Tim’s mind.

“Let Arkham serve its brand of justice,” Tim said, wincing a little at how stern he sounded. Bello made him angry and disgusted, but murder wasn’t the right answer. “We don’t need to kill him.”

“You sound just like _him_ ,” Jason grit out, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “This is my mission, Tim. I get to make the final call.”

“So I’m just a pretty face?” Tim tensed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is our case, Jason. We agreed to a plan, and we need to stick to it. Your emotions are going to put us in danger.”

Jason turned away, his eyes burning a hole into his laptop screen. On it, Bello and his men were toasting, raising shot glasses full of expensive tequila. “You don't get it.”

“I do,” Tim said, moving to place a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and he knew it was true when he said it.

The gold wedding band on his ring finger flashed. He’d forgotten to take it off before his rendezvous with Deran. “I’m not judging you, Jason.”

“Then let me do this.”

The words were soft and harsh at the same time, like the strings of a violin just before they snapped. Jason’s bravado was gone, and the look in his eyes was both vulnerable and hard. So much of Jason was a mystery, so many contradictions at war inside of him.

No wonder he got along so well with Damian.

Something else flashed across the computer screen, startling Tim enough that his response died on his lips.

“What the fuck?” Jason tapped a few keys on his laptop, changing the camera angle.

A swarm of men dressed in black and armed with assault rifles swarmed Bello and his business associates. Tim and Jason watched, helpless, as chaos unfolded.

A brief but intense shoot out followed the interruption. Bello’s guards were targeted first, downed by clean shots to the head before any of them could draw a weapon. Tequila bottles were broken and chairs were overturned, blood as black as the men’s uniforms staining pristine white carpet and peach cream walls.

Men in suits reached for their guns, but it was too late. The remaining criminals were forced into submission, hands up and knees bent. Tim watched one of the armed men push Bello’s head into the table before yanking his hands behind his back to cuff him.

With their backs to the camera, Tim could clearly make out their affiliation.

“The FBI?” Tim read aloud.

“How the hell did they get the drop on us?” Jason’s knuckles were white against his keyboard.

Tim hit a few keys on his tablet. “Jason, we need to get out of here.”

Jason’s eyes refused to move away from the screen.

“Jason.” Tim squeezed his shoulder. “Trust me, I’m as pissed off as you, but right now there are six more agents on their way up here.”

Jason cursed, slamming his laptop closed. “What the fuck are we supposed to tell B?”

Tim shrugged, helping Jason to unplug their tech and reset the footage loop, making sure their ascent to the security hub and Tim’s meeting with Deran were erased. “I’m just a pretty face, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Jason hit the code into the door’s security keypad. He tugged them through the sliding doors, one hand wrapped around Tim’s wrist. “Pretty and dangerous.”

“At least you didn't kill anyone,” Tim said.

Jason didn’t bother hiding his glare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.

When they got back to their room, they called Bruce together. The news was on in the background, the local broadcast stations already reporting on the arrest from outside the hotel. Information travelled so quickly, nowadays.

Bruce, for all his misgivings, took the news in stride. Tim thought it had a lot to do with him being there, which didn’t seem to escape Jason’s notice. That knowledge was confirmed when halfway through their briefing Jason handed the phone wordlessly to Tim.

Tim shot him a worried glance, but Jason was shedding clothes as he walked, and after getting an eyeful of his tawny-hued back, Tim took the rest of the call out on the balcony. He was unsurprised to see police boats in the water, their spotlights turned on the docks. Several yachts were being searched and a number of large hotel fishing crates were stacked and in the process of being wrapped with red and yellow evidence tape.

After reviewing the case with Bruce two more times, he told Tim to get some rest, and that there was nothing else they could do. Tim sighed and checked the time on his satellite phone — it was well past 2 a.m. He went back into the room, thinking of nothing else but curling up in bed, but he froze in the doorway at the sight that greeted him.

Jason was dressed in one of the fluffy white bathrobes, lounging across the middle of their bed. Tim’s gazed followed the path of Jason’s strong thighs down to his bare feet, which felt strangely intimate. Broken arms and bulleted shoulders? Sure. Sliced up thighs and bruised ribs? Tim had seen it all. But Jason’s ankles looked almost too delicate for his solid frame, the arches of his feet too graceful to belong to the man he knew on the bed.

Any hope Tim had of sleeping off his crush and ignoring the steadily building tension that had grown between him and Jason throughout the case flew out the window to sink with Bello’s crumbling empire.

Jason’s wet hair was pushed back from his face, the style making the sharp angles of his cheekbones stand out, drawing Tim’s eyes to his square jawline and exposed throat. His skin looked honey-gold everywhere against the stark white of his robe.

The sheets were unmade and messy beneath Jason, and Tim wondered if the orderliness of them had pissed him off earlier.

Finally, Tim’s eyes settled on the coral, corded hotel phone cradled in the nook of Jason’s shoulder, and then the red light on the receiver, which was flashing in use. “Jason, what are you doing?”

“Ordering room service,” Jason said, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and they hadn’t lost the chance to serve the justice they’d so desperately wanted. “Ah, yes. I’d like two bottles of your best champagne and strawberries, please. Room 4434. That’s right, the honeymoon suite.”

When he’d said the honeymoon part, Jason winked at Tim.

“Jason…”

“What’s that, babe?” Jason said, pulling the phone from his ear. Tim opened his mouth and then shut it at Jason’s expectant look. When he didn’t say anything, Jason shrugged and pulled the receiver back to his face. “Actually, make that two orders of strawberries. Thanks.”

Tim watched Jason hang the phone back up, too stunned to do anything else.

“What?”Jason asked, leaning back against the headboard and meeting Tim’s stare with his eyes half-mast.

“Champagne?”

“It’s my honeymoon, Tim. So I’m gonna get drunk on expensive champagne, and it would be a lot more fun if you joined me.”

“Is that really a good idea right now?”

Jason’s head tilted, his eyes dipping down quickly before returning to Tim’s face. “You got something better in mind?”

_Yes._

_No._

“It’s almost three in the morning,” Tim pointed out instead. He bent down at the foot of the bed and pulled out his suitcase. What he wanted right now was a shower. “I don’t need a better idea than sleep.”

“This is a prime patrol hour,” Jason said casually, his arms cradling his head. “It’s perfectly early Standard Bat Time.”

“Trust me,” Tim said, as he pulled out a pair of boxers and a white undershirt. Too late, he realized they had bright yellow pineapples printed in neat, diagonal rows. _Thanks, Alfred._ “There is nothing standard about working for Bruce.”

Jason snorted, but didn’t say anything else. His eyes were glued to the TV, where a serious-looking anchor stood in front of the hotel. Bello’s face flashed across screen, his hands cuffed behind his back and his nose bloodied as an FBI agent pushed him into the back of a flashing police car.

Tim stole the remote off the dresser and powered down the screen. “I’d die happy if I never saw that terrifying smile again.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed softly. His face was turned toward the dark balcony windows, so Tim took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom.

This time, he remembered to close the bamboo slats.

He was just wrapping a towel around his waist when there was a sharp knock against their door. A moment later, he saw Jason walk past the bathroom to answer it. Tim heard him speaking in Spanish again, and Tim couldn't make more than a few words.

A smiling room service attendant dressed in white slacks and a collared shirt wheeled in a linen-covered table, carrying an ice bucket that chilled two bottles of champagne and two covered bowls that Tim assumed contained the strawberries Jason had wanted. The attendant gave Tim a cursory glance as he passed, nodding his head as Jason spoke softly next to him.

“Where would you like this?” he asked in Spanish — at least, that’s what Tim thought he asked.

He imagined the attendant’s eyes drifting to their unmade bed. Suddenly, Tim flushed.

Platters clinked from the other room as Jason’s low, oaky voice floated softly into the bathroom. Tim hastily threw on his boxers and t-shirt, embarrassingly aware of how everything looked to an outsider. Now that the case was over, they had nothing to hide behind, the purpose of their fake relationship sitting in the back of police car.

Tim pretended to be busy when they passed by again. Having nothing else to do with his hands, he brushed his teeth, the sound of the sink water loud in their otherwise empty room.

Jason was standing in the doorway watching him closely. He’d been watching him all night, even before they’d gotten back to their room.

“Champagne?” he asked, when their eyes met in the mirror.

Tim shrugged noncommittally — the truth was that he hadn’t decided if he wanted to play this game with Jason or not. “What were you two talking about?”

Jason crossed his arms, he eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t you speak Spanish?”

“I do,” Tim said carefully. “But not well. You were talking too quickly.”

It was Jason’s turn to shrug. “I asked him to tell me the strangest thing a couple ever asked room service to bring up at 2 a.m.”

Tim rinsed his mouth, using one of the clear bathroom glasses. “And?”

“Balloon animals,” Jason admitted, a smile playing on his lips. He didn't elaborate further, but pushed off the door jam to walk back into their bedroom. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “You're letting perfectly good booze go to waste.”

“Oh,” Tim said, following Jason with only a little reluctance. “I didn't realize the Red Hood had such expensive tastes.”

Jason was already sitting on his side of the bed, two glasses full of champagne and a bowl of strawberries resting on a silver platter next to him. “And I didn't know you were such a big fan of pineapples.”

Alfred really hadn't done him any favors with the boxers. “They’re not mine.”

One of Jason’s eyebrows rose at the same time that Tim realized how his words must have sounded.

“I mean,” Tim said quickly, plopping down on his side of the bed and looking down at the offending yellow and green design. “Alfred packed them.”

“It’s nice to know he still has a sense of humor.”

“When it suits him.”

Jason offered him a glass of champagne, and Tim took it gently, making sure their fingers didn’t brush. The first sip was sharp and bitter from the lingering toothpaste on his tongue. “It’s good,” he said, anyway.

Jason hummed in agreement. Tim watched him pluck a strawberry from the bowl and bring to his lips.

“Balloon animals?” Tim asked, looking away.

It took Jason a moment to answer as he swallowed a mouthful of berry. “That’s what he said, yeah.”

“For what?” Tim wondered out loud.

Jason tilted his head back to finish the rest of his champagne, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe before angling his head in Tim’s direction. “If you have to ask, then you probably don’t want to know.”

His voice came out lower than normal, more raw than Tim was used to hearing. It made his neck grow hot and the tips of his ears turn red. He almost overturned his glass of champagne in his haste to do something else with his hands, and he wondered if he could blame his blush on the alcohol.

“I don’t get you,” Jason said, but not harshly. His eyebrows knotted as he studied Tim over the rim of his crystal flute. His gaze pinned Tim in place, set another wave of heat shuddering through his limbs.

Tim tried to keep his voice even, casual. “Don’t get what?”

Jason looked like he was deciding something as he poured himself another glass of champagne. When he tipped the bottle at Tim, he held out his glass for a refill.

“You were perfectly capable of handling Deran,” he said, after taking another long sip. “And now you’re feeling shy?”

“I’m not —,” Tim tried to protest.

Jason continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, almost like he was working out a difficult puzzle. “You’re Mr. Cool when someone’s looking, and then get all flustered over a room service order. It’s almost like…”

Jason's voice drifted off, and then a moment later his eyes flew up to his face, and Tim felt his stomach drop.

He somehow summoned the courage to ask, “Almost like what?”

Their gazes locked, and Jason looked so close to saying everything Tim wanted and feared, but then he didn’t. Instead, Jason turned his head away and brought the his glass to his lips. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess.”

Tim swallowed down a mouthful of champagne, felt the bubbles tingle against his lips where he wished Jason would kiss him again. They sat in silence for a while, drinking and watching the moon shine over the rippling ocean.

“What do you think the types of people who rent out these kinds of suites even talk about?” Jason asked suddenly.

“Well, if they're on their honeymoon…,” Tim’s voice drifted, his face heating again. His eyes held firm on the windows.

“What?” Jason asked. “They'd be talking about the wedding?”

“Maybe,” Tim said, and almost left it at that. “But I don’t really think they’d be doing much talking.”

“No,” Jason agreed, and Tim could hear his smile. “They’d probably be making animal balloons or whatever crazy couples call it nowadays.”

Tim laughed, aiming to match Jason’s good humor. “I can make you a balloon flower hat, if you want.”

“I knew you weren't entirely useless,” Jason said. Then he went quiet, thoughtful. “Do you ever think about it?”

Tim turned away from the balcony windows. “Think about?”

“Getting married,”Jason shrugged, and there was an earnest kind of vulnerability in his voice that told Tim he wasn't teasing.

“Not really,” Tim admitted, knowing it was the truth. “It doesn't seem very practical in our line of work.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, a slow huff of air. He leaned closer to Tim then, until their shoulders touched. “That's why I think you should feed me a strawberry.”

Tim whipped his head around to stare at Jason, but his eyes lowered to the plate of berries resting between them on the bed. His dark lashes fanned out against his golden skin, and Tim wondered what he might see in his expression if he looked up.

“You’re joking.”

“No,” Jason said, straightening a bit so that Tim could finally see his face. He licked his lips, spreading his hands out palms up over the bed sheet. “When are you ever going to be on a honeymoon again?”

A part of Tim wanted to get angry at the implication of Jason's words: that he would always be alone, even if he was just repeating back what Tim had easily admitted. But being alone and getting married were two very different things, and Jason’s eyes were burning with something that didn’t look like pity.

“What about you?” Tim challenged. “Got a bunch of honeymoon suites in your future?”

“You said it yourself,” Jason shrugged. “Not a lot of marriages in our line of work.”

“I can feed strawberries to someone without it being our honeymoon,” Tim felt inclined to point out.

“That’s true.” Jason nodded his head slowly, his eyes on his hands. “I knew you’d be too scared, anyway.”

“Scared?” Tim scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you, twelve?”

“What if Deran had asked you to feed him strawberries?” Jason asked, leaning closer to grab one from the bowl. “You would have done it, right?”

“That’s different,” Tim said, and then promptly pressed his lips together at the knowing smile Jason shot him.

“Different, huh?” Jason echoed, holding out a strawberry to Tim. “How so?”

“That's _work_ ,” Tim said reluctantly, and he knew at this point he sounded like he was talking at gunpoint.

“So what do you call this?” Jason gestured to the space between them: the room, the bed, the petals still littering the floor.

“Annoying,” Tim said, but he pulled the strawberry from Jason’s fingers anyway.

Jason leaned back on his elbows, watching Tim through hooded eyes. “Go ahead,” he said. “Impress me.”

The sound of those words falling from Jason’s lips curled low in Tim’s gut, hot and insistent. He felt them so powerfully that he looked away, gritting his teeth. “This is so stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said.

Tim swallowed.

Jason held still as Tim lifted the strawberry to his mouth. His teeth looked very sharp and white when he smiled, the curve of his lips teasing and easy. There was something else in Jason's eyes, something darker making his baby-blues the same shade as the the waves outside their window.

Those eyes held Tim’s the entire time.

Breathing deeply, Tim pressed forward, bringing the strawberry to rest against Jason’s bottom lip. Jason’s smile widened a little before he bit into the fruit roughly, making juice run in pink rivets down Tim’s wrist.

Slowly, Jason’s fingers moved to circle Tim’s wrist, bringing more of the strawberry to his mouth. Though his touch was gentle, his fingers felt tight over Tim’s pulse — hot, like brands. His thumb rubbed strawberry juice into Tim’s wrist, made red blossoms of color bloom over the pale of his skin.

And then it was over, Jason's lips dangerously close to Tim’s fingers as he reached the green, leafy crown. He pulled Tim’s fingers away from his face, licked the juice from own lips. His mouth looked liked every wet dream Tim had ever had.

It called to mind their shared kiss, the easy brush of Jason’s mouth over his own. How it had felt like something terrible and wonderful in equal measure, like stepping out into the middle of an electrical storm, warm drops spilling like honey against an open mouth while lightning zinged across the back of Tim’s eyelids.

Jason was not a force to be taken lightly.

“Not bad,” he said lowly, his eyes skating over Tim’s wrist where he’d marked him with strawberry-stained fingers. Now they looked like love bites, phantom tokens of a lover’s passion.

Tim pulled away to sit on his side of the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. He tried not to sound breathless when he asked, “Impressed?”

“Not yet,” Jason said. His words came out rough, like wet gravel and damp leaves, and there was something of a challenge in those words, in the tilt of Jason's head.

Tim watched him dip his fingers into the bowl of strawberries to pull out another one. Its skin was damp with condensation, small beads of water clinging to sweet-soft red.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Jason said, pulling his arm up slow and leaning in. Tim stilled in surprise, his brain short-circuiting and stumbling over the hazy memory of Jason’s touch.

“Wait, what?” Tim pulled back, nervously licking his lips.

“I’m going to feed you a strawberry now,” Jason said slow, calm. His words felt wired to Tim's arousal, heat pooling at the base of his spine and drumming like a second heartbeat between his legs.

Tim swallowed, felt his skin grow warm everywhere. “Oh, um, I’m good.”

“It’s just a strawberry,” Jason rolled his eyes, holding it up between them. They both knew that wasn’t exactly true, either.

Tim made a face, buying himself time. “I don’t like fruit.”

Jason’s eyes dipped down to his pineapple-printed briefs, and Tim couldn't breath at all. “Liar, liar, pineapples on fire.”

“Shut up,” Tim managed to groan out, his voice only a little strained. “Stop bringing up my boxers.”

“I can’t help it.” Jason leaned forward on an elbow, dangling the strawberry closer to Tim’s face. “They’re ruining the moment.”

“We’re not having a moment.”

“Come on,” Jason pleaded. “The whole honeymoon experience, remember?”

That look was back in Jason’s eyes, something simmering just beneath the teasing. It made Tim stupid and pliant under Jason’s stare.

“Fine,” Tim sighed, surrendering to this sweet torture. “Do your worst.”

Jason grinned like Tim promised him the moon, his empty hand moving to rest against Tim’s chest, so he could gently push him back onto the bed. Tim wondered if he could feel his heart jack hammering under his palm.

It was hard to keep still under Jason’s hand, harder still not to squirm under the feel of his eyes on him.

Tim let out an unsteady breath. His hands were shaking at his sides, his entire body trembling in anticipation of Jason hovering over him. When Jason’s fingers unexpectedly brushed the hair from his face, he jerked back with a low noise.

“Relax,” Jason whispered, looking down at Tim with his lips parted and his hair falling around his face, unruly where it had dried against a pillowcase.

Jason’s eyes dropped to Tim’s mouth, and he felt it like a physical touch. It was almost too much, so close to every fantasy he’d let himself have about Jason, the ones where he'd wake up sweating and achingly hard against his stomach..

Afraid of what Jason would be able to read in his face, Tim squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tim,” Jason murmured. A surge of equal embarrassment and _want_ rushed through Tim. He knew Jason must know, could feel the way his body unconsciously arched up into the sound of his voice.

Jason's words from earlier were replaying in his mind. _It’s almost like…_

_I like you, I like you, I like you_ , Tim thought, and shivered at the feel of Jason’s hand high on his ribs, fingers splayed and just as hot as he remembered. He didn't dare open his eyes, wanted to sink into the dream of their pretend relationship a little longer.

“Look at me.” Jason moved his palm down, fingers finding a stripe of bare skin between Tim’s shirt and his boxers. _“Please.”_

His eyes blinked open under Jason’s soft command, the bright lights making his vision swim. And then everything narrowed to the look on Jason’s face. Nothing else existed — not the case, not the honeymoon suite, not the strawberries that lay forgotten between them.

Only the open _desire_ Tim found there, the hunger he’d been wanting all this time.

It was too much. Tim gasped, went to pull his wrist away from Jason’s fingers, but Jason’s grip tightened and his mouth pressed down against Tim’s, sweet and damp like strawberries. His touch was gentle, his tongue champagne against Tim’s parted lips, tickling like bubbles against the roof of his mouth.

Kissing him, like there wasn’t anything else he’d rather be doing.

Tim’s body lifted against Jason with a strangled noise at the back of his throat, feet pushing against the soft mattress for leverage until he could feel Jason against him. And then Jason was right there, pressing Tim back against the sheets in response, their chests touching and their legs tangled, empty champagne flutes and berries crashing to the floor with a sound of breaking glass, ruined in the wake of their careless need.

Kissing Deran had been pleasant and soothing, like gentle rain against heated skin. Kissing Jason this time felt like fire; he was the kindle and the wood and the smoke and the red-orange sparks that lit up the backs of his eyelids and everything Tim wanted. Wars erupted at the touch of Jason's fingers, time stopped at the touch of his lips.

Jason stroked his tongue deeper, groaning into Tim’s mouth when the favor was returned. Tim felt brave at the sound and moved his hands down to push the white bathrobe off Jason’s shoulders, so he could feel his bare shoulders straining under his touch. His skin was a deep, tawny gold, glowing against the moonlit room.

Jason broke the kiss to drag in an unsteady breath, pressed his lips into the skin of Tim’s neck and sucked hard, leaving behind a mark. Tim never wanted him to stop, wanted Jason’s mouth to plant a garden of purple-dark violets against every inch of his skin.

“God, _Tim_ ,” Jason said, a wet gasp against Tim’s throat.

Another pulse of painful-good arousal flooded Tim’s body at how wrecked Jason sounded, making his cock heavy, aching between his legs.

When Jason sat up to straddle Tim’s stomach, every tendon and muscle rippled under perfect, tight skin. He reached down to unknot the robe’s tie at his narrow waist, and then made quick work of Tim’s t-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, his hands everywhere between them.

Tim’s lips were wet with the feel of Jason’s champagne kisses, but his mouth went dry at the sight of so much bare skin, shadows dipping across the ridges of Jason’s abs, catching against the spaces between his ribs. It was still too much, and Tim pulled Jason down by the back of his neck, kissing him desperately and saying everything with his lips that he hadn’t been able to with words.

There was so much heat now, the pain of Tim’s arousal so sweet it made him feel drunk and brave, made him press his hips up to rub against Jason’s thigh, the feel of friction fueling more fire in veins.

“Fuck,” Jason broke the kissed, breathed the words into Tim’s mouth like a sob. _“Tim.”_

Another rock of Tim’s hips and a throaty groan, and Jason was bearing down, kissing Tim hard enough to bruise and aligning their hips so that their straining, clothed cocks touched.

_The honeymoon experience_ echoed at the back of his mind, bringing Tim up short.

“Stop,” Tim said, pushing Jason back.

Jason looked down at him, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with arousal, his breath labored and straining — like keeping space between them was a physical ache.

“I don’t…” Tim licked his lips. “I’m not pretending,” he said in a rush. He didn’t mean for it to come out so pleading, clumsy with the taste of Jason still on his tongue.

Jason ran his hands slowly up Tim’s sides. “Weren’t you paying attention, baby?”

Tim looked up at him, something warm blooming in his chest that he didn’t want to give a name to just yet. His body was humming, alive and electric under Jason’s hands, his blood connected to the sound of Jason’s voice.

Jason came down on his elbows, pinning Tim in, so that he could whisper in his ear, his lips brushing with every word. “The case ended hours ago.”

Tim swallowed. “So…”

“So there’s no reason to pretend,” Jason said, pulling back so that he could look Tim in the eyes. “You feel this?” he asked, pressing Tim’s hand over the left side of his chest so he could feel Jason’s wildly beating heart.

He let it rest there a moment before guiding Tim’s palm down, until his hand pressed against the hardness between his thighs. “That’s all for you, Tim. Just you.”

Tim’s breath caught at the heat of Jason beneath his hand. 

He looked at Jason. Pulled his face back to really _look._

Jason was over him, his hair curling wildly around his forehead. Every hungry word Tim had ever heard was written across the red hues of Jason’s cheeks, the black depths of his blown pupils enormous and lusting. He looked wild, unmoored and vulnerable in the throes of such desperate wanting.

_I’ve done this?_ Tim marvelled.

In all of his fantasies, he never quite managed to dream up something like this. Jason staring down at him equal parts fascinated and needy. A look of awe in his eyes so beautiful and raw, like he’d known Tim was the answer to an important question all along, one Tim hadn’t ever let himself even think to ask.

He pulled his hand away slowly and turned his gaze on Jason’s face. His expression was so unguarded, Tim could see the truth there.

“I like you,” Tim said, because he hadn’t said it sooner.

Jason laughed, and it was a warm, happy sound that made his face soften. “I kind of figured.”

Tim kissed him again, languid and deliberate. Jason answered in kind, his lips and hands still burning everywhere they touched Tim’s skin.

They had a honeymoon to dream up between their mouths, a honeymoon to find between the gentle slide of their skin and the sudden aches in their bodies.

Mouths and teeth and brave fingers mapped out the shape of their mutual pleasure.

 

_There are violets in your eyes_  
_There are guns that blaze around you_  
_There are roses in between my thighs_  
_And a fire that surrounds you_  
_It’s no wonder every man in town_  
_Had neither fought nor found you_  
_Everything you do is elusive_  
_To even your honey dew_

_Our honeymoon_  
_Our honeymoon_  
_Our honeymoon_

_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_  
_Dreaming away your life_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8.

In the morning, Tim woke up alone, his fingers grasping at nothing but twisted bed sheets. His hands smelled like strawberries and his body felt like nothing and everything all at once, and god, god, god, had last night been real?

Had he been dreaming?

He had only a few moments to wonder before the hotel door opened, Jason pushing through with two cups of coffee in his hands. He couldn't stop himself from noticing how unfairly attractive Jason looked in his sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“Nice bedhead,” he said, holding one out to Tim.

There were marks on Jason’s neck that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and Tim just stared.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, pressing a fingertip into a bruise blooming on his own neck. “You’re wearing the matching set.”

He knew without looking that it was true.

“I also got breakfast.” Jason pulled out a white paper bag from under his arm and shook it in Tim’s direction.

“You didn't have to,” Tim said as he took the offered bag. Part of him wanted to be careful, afraid that last night had just been … last night.

“You feel this?” Jason asked suddenly, holding out a corner of his shirt to Tim. The words made his heart speed up; he remembered the same words spoken only hours earlier.

_You feel this? That’s all for you, Tim. Just you._

Tim pinched the material between his fingers, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Uh? Soft?” he guessed.

“No, Tim,” Jason responded, moving to sit next to him on the bed. He leaned a little closer so that Tim was looking at him when he revealed, “That's husband material.”

“Oh my god,” Tim groaned, palming his face with his free hand. “You are so lame.”

Jason snatched the paper bag from Tim’s loose fingers. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

Tim felt his face grow warm but said nothing, accepting a warm chocolate croissant from Jason. He took a bite and his eyes fluttered shut, and he probably, definitely made an embarrassing little noise at the first touch of buttery, chocolatey goodness on his tongue.

“I changed my mind,” he said. “You’re the best fake husband ever.”

“It’s nice to know I can buy your loyalty for the price of chocolate croissants,” Jason grinned, handing one over to Tim.

“And coffee,” Tim added.

“Tim, you've got...” Jason pointed to the corner of his own lips, but his eyes were on Tim’s mouth

Tim wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “Did I get it?”

Jason sighed, and Tim felt the bed dip next to him as he leaned closer. “Here,” Jason said, tilting Tim's chin up so he could swipe his thumb against his bottom lip. Jason’s touch was gentle but not hesitant.

He made a frustrated sound when the offending bit of chocolate refused to budge, and then leaned forward to kiss the corner of Tim’s mouth.

Something warm exploded in Tim’s chest, and he sighed into the press of Jason’s mouth against his own.

Jason pulled back, but his hand still cradled Tim’s face. “I like you, too” he said.

“I kind of figured,” said Tim.

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kim and TK who are endlessly patient with me and provide the best ideas and always have wonderful insight and suggestions on how to make my writing better. I couldn't have done this without them. <3
> 
>  
> 
> *from Alice: Madness Returns
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a note. It would be super nice to get some feedback and warm fuzzies on something that I spent months creating : )


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